


at least we stole the show

by pearwaldorf



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She pauses, and looks at Foggy. There's concern there, but also longing and desire he's doing his best to hide. They've lived through explosions and Fisk and the spinach dip at Josie's. If this doesn't work out, they'll be all right. (They have to be all right.) She kisses him long and slow, nipping at his bottom lip just to hear his breath catch before she laces their fingers together.</p><p>“Let’s go to Matt’s.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	at least we stole the show

Foggy is the one that kisses first, in an alleyway outside of Josie's. They've both had too much whiskey (the better stuff tonight, because why not live a little) to even think about going to sleep yet. They're not in college anymore, and understand the importance of hydration, painkillers, and street meat in cushioning the assault they’ve made on their livers. Foggy swears by this shawarma cart on 48th that's open only at night with the most amazing goddamn gyros, dripping with sauce and grease. 

"I thought gyros were Greek," Karen says, just to be contrary (and right). 

"They might be, but they all taste the same when you're drunk!" He spins her around, just for the hell of it, but the world doesn't stop when he does. 

"Foggy, Foggy, hold on. I think I'm going to puke." He's instantly solicitous, pulling her away from the still-busy street. She leans against a building, soaking in the chill of the bricks. It seems to help, and her stomach and head settle. 

"You OK?" He asks, and there’s something in his tone that makes her heartbeat do funny things. "Because if you're not, I need to get out of your splash radius. These are new and very expensive Italian shoes. At least that's what the guy on the sidewalk said when he sold them to me." 

She smiles and tips her head against the front of his suit jacket. It's scratchy wool and smells like detergent, but also Foggy. When exactly she realized she knew how he smelled, and that she liked it, she's not sure, but it's nice. Really nice. And it's nice to be here, leaning against Foggy, who's warm and solid and running his fingers through her hair. She tilts her head up to look at him, drunk and pleased and content.

"Yeah, I'm good." 

He moves his head forward, just a little, and covers her mouth with his, gentle and undemanding and soft. He still tastes like whiskey, but in a good way: a faint bit of bright sweetness she licks into his mouth trying to chase. He likes that, judging from the way she gets pulled closer to him and the little noise he makes in the back of his throat. She’s trying to work up the nerve to invite him in for coffee when he grabs her hand and tugs her back towards the street. She raises an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Matt’s place is closest. He said he’d be out tonight.” Foggy says it so casually she wonders if this is some sort of weird sex thing of theirs. And it occurs to her at that moment she would be quite OK with that ( _with one or both of them_ , her brain interjects helpfully). Foggy must interpret her silence as unease because he drops her hand and backs off. 

“We could go back to my place or yours instead. Or we can stop things right here, it’s cool. I just want you to be comfortable.” She pauses, and looks at Foggy. There's concern there, but also longing and desire he's doing his best to hide. They've lived through explosions and Fisk and the spinach dip at Josie's. If this doesn't work out, they'll be all right. (They have to be all right.) She kisses him long and slow, nipping at his bottom lip just to hear his breath catch before she laces their fingers together.

“Let’s go to Matt’s.” 

\--

The rooftop entrance to Matt’s apartment is one she hasn’t seen before, and it’s dark and perilous in their drunken state. They use their phones to light the way down, clinging to the railing. She catches Foggy's eye and giggles, because it's ridiculous. And then they’re in Matt’s bedroom, undressing each other. She doesn’t miss the way Foggy kicks their discarded pieces of clothing into the corners and out of any walking paths, but then they’re tumbling into the bed, and she doesn’t think about their clothes any more. The sheets are cool against her skin, and smell faintly of what she’s come to identify as Matt. Even that first night, sleeping in a stranger’s bed, she breathed in that scent and was comforted. Maybe it was a sign, she thinks as Foggy’s hands move over her, warm and reverent.

“You’re gorgeous. Like beyond stunning.” He stares at her, like he wants to memorize the sight of her laid out in front of him, painted in flickering, washed-out neon. There’s something in his voice that makes her wonder how often he gets passed over or ignored for Matt, and it makes her indignant that other people don’t understand how incredibly fucking amazing he is. She thinks back to when he took her out drinking the first week he knew her and made her laugh until her stomach ached, just to distract her from the horror show that was her life. And to now, where he’s half of the best thing she’s ever had going for her, and it makes something in her chest ache. 

“Hey.” Something must show on her face, because he catches her eye, his expression mostly playful but just serious enough that she knows he means it. “I’ve got you, no matter what.” Her heart feels like it’s going to spill over, and she tugs him down, resting their foreheads together for a moment. 

When he kisses her this time it’s purposeful, focused and intent in a way she wasn’t expecting, and it sets something alight in her. She sucks a mark into the side of his neck, just high enough above his collar line that somebody looking for it might see. He gasps when she applies her teeth, and she smiles against him, pleased. In retaliation or reciprocity, he bruises a spot on her clavicle, precisely where a blouse might move against when she reaches for a coffee mug or drawer. It feels good, but she doesn’t make a noise until he runs his tongue over the places his teeth have been.

His fingers find their way to the curve of a breast, then the other. He brushes a thumb over a nipple, enjoying the noise she makes when he pinches. Foggy’s mouth is warm, and the softness of tongue and then scrape of teeth feels good enough that she pulls his hair accidentally. He makes a noise that’s definitely pleased, and she keeps that in mind. 

Foggy moves down her body, working his way down her stomach until he reaches the juncture of her legs. He looks up for permission, and she nods. He doesn't try to be fancy or show off, which she appreciates. He’s observant, paying attention to which spots make her grind into his face and which ones make her back away, and it makes her bite her lip, a little bit of pain to keep herself from being swept away too quick.

He slips a finger inside her, and she gasps. She didn't realize how much she wanted to be fucked until he starts moving, adding another. It was good before but it’s so much better now, the drag of his tongue and the press of his hand against her, building, building until she cries out and arches, feeling herself come around him. She falls against the bed, breathing hard. He still has his mouth on her as she gathers herself back together, pressing soft little kisses on the inside of her thighs, an unbearably tender gesture that makes her tangle her fingers in his hair and stroke against his head. 

She hears a polite cough and glances to her side to see Matt standing in the doorway. She hadn’t noticed him come in, being more than a little preoccupied, and she wonders how much he was privy to. (It makes her flush, realizing that she wanted him to hear _everything_.) 

"Matt!" Foggy smiles as he sees where she’s looking. "Hey buddy." Matt heads right for him, kisses him in greeting. It's easy and familiar, obviously done many times before, his hands reaching out to cup Foggy's face. Foggy's still in her, gently stroking her clit with his thumb as he and Matt continue to kiss, the bastard. She grinds against Foggy’s hand and makes a noise, because how could she not, and Matt moves towards her. Foggy never wiped his face, so she can smell herself all over Matt. It's heady and arousing, realizing she's marked them both. 

“I know it was kind of sudden, and we should have properly asked, but this is still okay, right?” He’s nervous, like she might back out now, of all times. She tugs him down for a kiss, light at first, but growing deeper as she presses them together. He brings a hand up to her cheek, thumb brushing along the line of bone, and she sighs into his mouth.

“How’s that for an answer?” She asks, and he laughs against her skin. It’s different from the usual polite chuckle she hears in the office when he meets with clients: softer, fond. She likes it. Matt tilts her head towards him, so Foggy can see them together, kissing long and languid. She feels Foggy's fingers stutter inside her as he takes a sharp breath.

"If you weren’t, y’know, occupied, I’d ask one of you to pinch me, because I must be dreaming. Right?" Matt reaches out and pinches Foggy’s arm, probably harder than he needs to, judging by the look on Foggy’s face. “Okay, that hurt, a lot. Thanks.” 

Matt’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Any time.” 

He pauses to take off his shirt, and she's surprised by the number of scars that cross his body, but only because she wasn't expecting so many. She's not stupid or unobservant, and this explains the days when he comes into the office moving stiffly, on the tails of another report of the Daredevil’s shenanigans. There’s going to be some Talks later, lots of them, but right now, all she wants is his skin under her hands.

His body is strong and muscular under her touch, and she runs her hands over his chest, relishing the way he gasps when she scrapes a nipple with her fingernails. She pauses at his waistband, and he tugs his pants down, underwear and all. She’s not surprised to see he’s hard already, and she strokes him lightly, experimentally. Even that’s enough to make him shudder and make a noise in the back of his throat, and she’s flooded with a fresh wave of desire. 

“You like that, Matty?” Foggy murmurs. “We want you to feel good.” 

“Yeah, it’s--it’s really good.” Matt’s voice is thready, halfway wrecked already, and she wonders if she could make him come just from this. 

“You want me to keep going?” She asks. 

“In a minute.” Matt takes her hand, places a kiss in her palm. He tips his head towards Foggy. “Foggy, what do you want?” 

“Lots of things, in general and specific. But right now, I think I’d like to fuck Karen, if she’s okay with that.” 

“I think I’d like that a lot,” She says, and he smiles. Matt hands Foggy a packet from a bedside drawer. She feels the lack of his fingers and shifts. Matt kisses her forehead while Foggy puts on the condom, as if in reassurance: _we’re still here_.

Foggy pushes into her, slowly, carefully. She appreciates his caution, but that’s not what she’s after.

“I won’t break. I’ll let you know if I want you to stop.” He nods, going deeper, harder. She listens to the huff of his breath, liking that he’s taking his pleasure in her. He says something that might be her name, rests a hand on her knee. Matt slides his fingers between her legs, stroking against her clit as Foggy moves. It’s exquisite, and a noise escapes her mouth, higher and needier than she would have liked. (She’s close to past caring, but quite not there yet.)

“Good?” Matt asks. She nods, not trusting herself to speak. She puts her fingers against his mouth, just to trace the outline of it, gorgeously kiss-swollen. He takes each of them in his mouth in turn, not trying to be neat about it, until she’s slick and wet with him. She strokes him again, relishing the way he moves against her, but stills immediately when she reaches out with her other hand, runs a thumb along the curve of his hip. She can feel the effort it’s taking for him not to move, and oh that’s something she likes, very much.

“Oh Matty, the expression on your face right now,” Foggy’s voice is soft, full of wonder. “You’re beautiful.” And he is: lips parted, teetering on the brink, if the way he’s trembling and breathing is any indication.

“Let go, it’s okay.” She rests her hand against the back of his neck, although she’s not sure who she’s grounding. He presses his face into her shoulder, until she can feel the damp pant of his breath. A jerk of his hips and he’s gasping, coming, spilling over her hand and her stomach. She’s not quite sure how he still has the presence of mind to press against her clit, rub just so, but it tips her over, her orgasm longer and more drawn-out than the last. She reaches out for Foggy, pulling him down as he thrusts into her, chasing his own release. 

Matt grabs him into a rough kiss, and she hears Foggy make a noise, swallowed up in Matt’s mouth, before he collapses on top of her, spent. She bends up to kiss Foggy’s forehead, enjoying the weight of them both against her. This is close to perfect, right here between them: safe, wanted, cared for; it’s almost too much. Almost.

With a groan, Matt rolls off the bed. She reaches out for him, but isn’t quick enough, brushing against his arm. He gives her a light peck on the lips. “Trust me, you want me to do this. I’ll be right back.” 

She hears running water, footsteps coming back in their direction. She feels a warm washcloth pressed into her hand, and she murmurs her thanks, Foggy too. She pitches the washcloth towards the foot of the bed, heedless of where it lands. 

“Sorry to be such a slob,” she murmurs, suddenly incredibly drowsy. Her limbs are pleasantly heavy, and between the both of them she’s warm, inside and out. 

“You’re forgiven. This time.” Matt’s reply is overtaken by a yawn. He tucks himself against her chest while Foggy nuzzles the back of her neck. She falls asleep between them afterward, Foggy’s arms curling around her waist. If she dreams, she has no memory of them, and she is grateful.

\--

She wakes up, feeling like warmed-over death. Her head hurts and she’s parched. (She will not even attempt to conceptualize the situation in her mouth.) Foggy is sprawled out on his stomach, making little noises in his sleep. She reaches out an arm and feels only silk and air, but there are noises in the kitchen, and the smell of pancakes and coffee. 

On the nightstand she sees two glasses of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. She grabs one and drinks it all down with a handful of pills, and starts to feel marginally more human. Matt must hear her, because he moves his head in the direction of the bedroom and holds up a spatula. 

Foggy shifts behind her. He makes a noise that indicates he’s awake, about as hung over as she is, and deeply unhappy about it. She hands him the other glass after he sits up.

“Matt’s taking care of us.” 

“Yeah.” Foggy says, smiling. “Yeah, he is.”


End file.
